‘That would be lovely, thank you,’ Rose replied.
‘Don’t know what ya mum’s gonna want ’em for in this heat, ’less she’s stopped melting since I saw her last,’ Hilde muttered under her breath, heading out to the back storeroom slowly, her large frame ponderous in her enormous apron.
Rose turned back to Alice. ‘Are you making a new bonnet?’ she asked, nodding at the ribbons Alice was holding.
‘Yes, just choosing some trim for the Mercy girls.’ Alice always preferred to call them that rather than ‘orphans’, which sounded so cold and sad.
‘Actually I’m glad I saw you today,’ Rose said. ‘I wanted to ask…well, I wondered if I might have your permission to help with the orphans. I’m sure you are very busy and I would so love to be of use. I mean, I assume there will be a celebration of sorts at the orphanage for Christmas?’
‘Actually, they attend celebrations elsewhere,’ said Alice, feeling slightly embarrassed. She was hardly in a position to invite Rose to Greenshades, where their Christmas would take place.
‘Oh, I see,’ Rose replied. ‘Well perhaps I could visit the orphanage with you and help in some way. I’m desperate to be involved, missing the children from my old parish as I do.’ Her eyes filled with tears as she added, ‘Especially at this time of year, poor lambs.’
‘I didn’t know you were involved with this kind of work, my dear,’ Alice said, surprised. Rose didn’t seem the type.
‘Oh well, one doesn’t like to boast about doing God’s bidding,’ Rose said demurely. ‘I would love to be a comfort and help in some small way again. I do so love children. Look at me, I’m sorry. Being all sentimental and foolish.’
‘Just don’t weep on me new ribbon there,’ Hilde sniffed, having returned with a selection of the previous season’s gloves. She eyed Rose with obvious suspicion, plonking the box on the counter. Alice studied Rose too, wondering at her motives.
‘Come with me on Sunday,’ offered Alice, deciding to call her bluff. ‘Pattie and I visit every week with the O’Shays and I’m sure there will be plenty for you to do. No doubt the girls will enjoy the company.’
Rose’s lips gave an almost imperceptible twitch before settling into a benign curve and she held out both her hands prettily to Alice’s, thanking her warmly. Turning to leave she was halted by a loud ‘Ahem’ from Hilde.
‘Oh Hilde, I do apologise. I think I’ve changed my mind about the gloves – I’ll knit them myself instead.’ She looked back at Alice and smiled again. ‘After all, handmade things mean so much more.’ Hilde’s mouth drew into one long, grim line as she closed up the box and took the gloves out to the back again, mumbling something about a certain ‘useless baggage’ who ‘wouldn’t know her backside from a knitting needle’. Alice had to stifle a giggle at that.
But all the way home in the buggy she puzzled over this new, unexpected side of the Dwyer girl.
On one hand, she found herself sharing Hilde’s scepticism. There was something a bit too good to be true about Rose’s pious behaviour, yet on the other hand Alice supposed the younger woman might truly just desire to be a good Christian. She thought about the reading from the previous Sunday’s mass, translating the Latin in her mind: Nolite iudicare ut non iudicemini: Judge not lest ye be judged.
‘Did ya find whatcha were lookin’ for?’ Maude asked as she walked into the kitchen on her return home.
‘Perhaps,’ Alice replied, lost in thought and missing the confused expression on Maude’s face. She sat down to cut the bonnet trimming, reflecting that one comment by Rose was certainly true: handmade things did mean so much more, especially to the hands making them.
Five
Waitara
Pattie thought the trip would never end. An hour in a chaise with Rose Dwyer and her own mother was torturous, not least because Pattie, who usually liked to handle the horse herself, had to let Alice take the reins today. She cursed herself again as she fidgeted with her bandaged hand, annoyed that she hadn’t been more careful working on the train set with her father. As a result, she had a rather sore gash to contend with, which was nothing compared to the torture of sitting opposite Rose in a confined space for half an hour. Her only entertainment during the trip had been trying to decide which was worse, her mother’s gullibility or Rose’s lies. Surely her mother could see through the pathetic fabrications about the ‘poor souls’ at St Bernard’s, Rose’s old parish orphanage in Melbourne.
Rose was appointing herself the heroine of every tale, describing how she had saved little Stan from drowning in the river, sewn Sally a dress with material bought with her own allowance (so the ‘poor darling’ had something pretty to wear on her First Holy Communion Day), and how Father Colin O’Donnell had openly cried at the pulpit the final time they attended mass, devastated to see her leave.
‘He told me later he was most embarrassed, but he just couldn’t seem to help himself,’ she said with a dainty shrug.
‘It’s a marvel he can get through mass each week then if he’s so emotional,’ Pattie remarked. ‘The Bible is hardly a comedy.’
‘Pattie!’ said her mother.
‘And however does he cope with funerals?’ Pattie went on, undeterred.
Rose darted a half-amused look her way then feigned an expression of sadness. ‘I suppose a priest’s life is a lonely one. Losing a friend can’t be easy, even for them.’
Pattie couldn’t help herself. ‘I wasn’t aware they were permitted lady friends.’
‘Pattie that is quite enough–’ her mother began.
‘Oh, Mrs O’Shay, don’t be concerned. Pattie is just teasing me,’ Rose said. ‘She and I are becoming bosom friends.’ Alice missed the mocking glance Rose threw at Pattie’s flat chest as she took a deep breath, expanding her own, impressive bust.
Pattie seethed. How could Jack be so shallow as to parade about with this insufferable cow? She needed to say something to him before it got more serious, and judging by her mother’s look of tentative approval today, it was going to have to be soon. The realisation made her slightly nervous. Jack had never been one to listen to advice, especially from his little sister.
She was saved from further thought as the orphanage finally came into view, a collection of dark brick buildings surrounded by bushland on the tallest hill in Waitara. The O’Shays had already arrived and, as she began to unload the eggs and apples they’d brought with them from the farm, she waved at Veronica. The latter waved back, pausing briefly in the game of hide and seek she was playing with the children in the garden.
Catherine was already in the kitchen organising a midday feast, a weekly treat of roast beef and potatoes followed by apple pies and cream, while the Sisters of Mercy enjoyed some quiet prayer. Pattie figured their mothers were in their element here. Sunday mass was well and good, but Catherine and Alice were practical women who believed in practising what was preached, and the two of them were a force to be reckoned with in that kitchen.
Catherine smiled to see Pattie come in with the supplies, then looked down at her bandaged right hand in consternation. ‘Oh Pattie, whatever have you done to yourself now?’
‘Runaway track, I’m afraid, Mrs O’Shay,’ Pattie explained laconically.
‘Indeed?’ Catherine raised an eyebrow. ‘Well I suppose that’s a little better than blaming a runaway horse,’ she said, taking the crate of apples and casting Veronica a look as she arrived in the doorway. Pattie could have sworn she saw Catherine hide a smile as she turned away.
While the children were eating lunch, Catherine took the girls aside and asked if they would go up to the work site nearby. The foreman was a family friend and had kept some leftover wood for the orphanage whose dark walls would become freezing in winter.
‘I’m not sure I can lift anything today,’ Pattie apologised, holding up her bandaged right hand.
‘I’ll go,’ Rose volunteered, and Pattie stared at Veronica’s dismayed expression, unable to help her.
‘I’m not sure…it may
be a little too heavy for you, my dear, and I wouldn’t want you to damage your pretty frock.’ Catherine eyed Rose’s soft yellow dress dubiously.
‘Oh, this old thing can stand getting dirty. I’m sure I can handle it, especially if it means warming these poor dears in winter,’ Rose said sweetly, picking up her hat. Pattie pulled a face at Veronica, who couldn’t seem to bring herself to smile back.
‘Shall we take the cart?’
Veronica stared straight ahead, gripping the seat as Rose failed to avoid yet another rut on the steep road. It was horribly hot. So hot the tree shadows up ahead were making water mirages on the track. They hadn’t spoken a word the entire way and Veronica was mentally inventing and discarding conversational topics when, to her surprise, Rose spoke.
‘You seem nervous, Veronica. Would you feel better standing up, perhaps?’
‘I…I’m not sure I understand–’
‘I saw you,’ Rose said in a matter-of-fact way. ‘It’s no use trying to deny it. I watched the way you flaunted yourself in front of Jack on the road, and the way you tried to flirt with him at the dinner party too. He has no use for a child, Vera, so stop embarrassing yourself.’
‘Veronica.’
‘I beg your pardon?’
‘My name is Veronica,’ Veronica ground out, feeling her anger build, ‘and I have no…interest in Jack Murphy, if that’s what you’re implying.’
‘The little girl has a temper. Well, well, well.’ Rose raised an eyebrow. ‘He’s going to ask my father for my hand soon, so it’s just as well you have no “interest”, as you say, although I think you’re lying.’ She glanced at Veronica casually before adding, ‘Not that it matters. Jack is in love with me, as I’m sure you can plainly see. I’m just trying to save you from making a fool of yourself again.’
‘I’m sure I have no idea what you’re talking about.’ Veronica stared across towards the thickly forested hills, focusing on breathing normally to keep her voice light.
Rose sighed, shaking her head. ‘Just keep well away from Jack, Veronica. He’s going to marry me and sticking pathetic little flowers in your hair won’t change that. Do we understand each other?’
‘Oh, I understand you perfectly,’ Veronica responded, unable to resist adding, ‘although I’m surprised you feel so threatened by a child like me.’
‘Not threatened, I’m just a realist. Even the bull will sniff at the calf.’
Veronica felt her heart thump hard in her chest and clamped her mouth shut, determined not to react. They drove along in a frosty silence until the workers finally came into sight. Seeing them approach, the foreman, John Parks, waved to them. Veronica waved back.
‘Here’s a turn-up for the books! Hello there, Miss Rose.’ He tipped his hat at Rose who flourished the reins to the seat and held out her hand to be helped down. Some of the workers nearby stopped and stared at her. ‘Mind y’step. Well, well, look at our young Veronica.’ He smiled at her kindly. ‘How’s your dad going? Hey.’ He’d noticed the men watching them. ‘Don’t just stand there gawking like frogs!’ he yelled. ‘Get this wood on the cart for the ladies!’
Rose studied her nails and enjoyed their admiring glances while Veronica donned her gloves and helped place the smaller blocks on the cart.
After a good twenty minutes the tray was full and John raised his hand in salute.
‘Tell your dad I’ll pop in and see him next week,’ he said, pausing to bark at the young men who were still hovering. ‘Go on, get back to work! And put your eyes back in y’heads, ya bunch of prawns!’
They waved goodbye and drove away. Veronica was flushed and dirty from her work in the hot sun and glanced alongside at Rose, who remained immaculate and cool. She had to hand it to her. Despite the fact she hadn’t lifted a single piece of wood, somehow Rose had still received the lion’s share of the praise from the men. It’s a pity she doesn’t apply her enthusiasm for speeding along bad roads and flirting with men to other pursuits, Veronica reflected, noting that the load was being flung to one side. She twisted in the seat and bent over to secure the ropes as best she could, pushing the hair back from her face.
‘Would you mind driving a little bit less like a lunatic?’ she exclaimed as the cart swerved yet again, forcing her to grip on tightly.
‘Would you mind not acting like a martyr all the time?’ Rose replied, rolling her eyes.
Veronica glared at her, half inclined to push her off the bench.
‘Is there any water left?’ she asked, eyeing the canteen tied around Rose’s waist.
‘Didn’t you bring any?’
‘The canteen was supposed to be for both of us.’
‘Was it? That’s a shame. All gone.’ Rose shrugged, flicking the reins. The cart veered as the horses further lengthened their gait.
Veronica doubted that, but decided she would rather go thirsty than beg Rose for anything.
Ten minutes later, her thirst now overwhelming, she was starting to relent on that decision. She was just about to ask Rose if she wouldn’t mind checking the canteen again when the horses slowed down, shaking their manes.
‘Get on there,’ Rose said, whipping them. Suddenly both horses began to shy and buck, whinnying in fright. Concerned that they might bolt, Veronica jumped down to hold the reins and try to calm them. Then she saw the reason for their distress.
On the side of the track, only a metre or so from her, was a large black snake, his neck held high, poised to strike. Veronica gasped, stepping back, but she was too late. The snake struck, hitting her leg several times, the sharp fangs piercing through her dress. Veronica was so shocked she barely made it back on to the cart before Rose hurled her up and tore them away.
The horses went at a gallop, eventually calming down to a walk before Rose managed to stop them altogether. Even then, their ears and tails were still twitching nervously. By this time Veronica was slumped over in her seat and groaning in agony, her stomach churning. ‘It…it was a black snake,’ she managed.
‘I know,’ Rose said, quickly fastening the reins and kneeling down. She tore Veronica’s skirts back, examining the wounds closely and pouring water from the canteen to clear the small dots of blood.
‘Thought you said there was no water left,’ Veronica panted.
Rose ignored her, unlacing her boots.
‘Three on the leg, one on the ankle. This one only just went through,’ she muttered, reaching for her bag and tipping out the contents. She grabbed a tiny pair of nail scissors and grasped the hem of Veronica’s petticoat.
‘W-what are you doing?’ Veronica gasped, struggling to focus through the haze of pain.
‘Making a bandage,’ Rose replied. ‘Stop moving.’ The air was rent with the tearing of cloth as she cut and then ripped strips off Veronica’s petticoat. With surprising speed and efficiency she sucked at the bite marks, spitting out what venom she could, then wound the bandages tightly around the wounded limb. Veronica found herself staring at the beads of perspiration on Rose’s forehead, reflecting she’d never seen her so much as dab at her face, let alone break out in a full sweat.
When she’d fastened the makeshift bandage, Rose leapt back up onto the seat and flicked the reins. As the horses took off, Veronica slid helplessly sideways.
‘Hold bloody still.’ Rose grabbed at her, pinning her down with her arm. Veronica had never heard Rose swear before either. She started to wonder if she was hallucinating.
The cart careered dangerously as Rose held onto Veronica with one hand and tried to control the horses with the other. Veronica felt the darkness beckon, her head pounding as a strong nausea assailed her.
As her head lolled from side to side, and the waves of blackness washed over her, Veronica felt Rose shaking her and heard her calling, as if from a distance, ‘Oh no, you don’t. Wake up! Come on, stay awake.’
The orphanage came into view just as Veronica lost consciousness. Her last thought was that she must be hallucinating as she heard Rose begin to cry.
Six
Highview, December 1913
She felt the warmth on her face as she was pulled from her dream. Jack was there, standing on a boat, but she couldn’t get to him and he was floating away, far away over giant, angry seas. She wanted to run to him but there was a snake in front of her, poised to strike, but she had to go. She had to bring him back home. The snake struck and her eyes flew open.
The curtains rippled along in little waves in the breeze and she stared at them, confused, blinking against the glare, her head aching. She was in her bedroom at home. It had all been a dream. No, not all. Her leg ached. Slowly it came back to her: the baking sun, the striking snake and Rose, ripping at her petticoat, winding the bandages.
‘She’s awake,’ she heard Eileen call excitedly. ‘Thank the Lord. Thank the Lord,’ she wept, as Catherine and Kevin came in to the room, ashen faced.
‘My baby,’ her mother crooned, holding Veronica close. It was a mark of how sick she must have been for Catherine to call her that, an endearment she hadn’t heard in years. Her father looked like he hadn’t slept, the tears running down his face unchecked.
‘Can’t tell you how worried we’ve been, little pet,’ he choked, kissing her forehead.
Dr Dwyer followed. He checked her pulse and examined her wounds as the parish priest, Father Francis, stood nearby.
‘How do you feel?’ the doctor asked finally, watching her closely.
‘Thirsty,’ she croaked, looking at Father Francis whose presence indicated to her just how close to death she’d come. Dr Dwyer seemed pleased with that answer and Eileen immediately poured her a glass of water from the nightstand. She drank gratefully.
‘You’re a lucky young lady, Veronica. It was a close call I have to say, but you’re out of the woods now. It seems that daughter of mine has been paying more attention to my work than I realised.’ Dr Dwyer patted her arm and walked out with her mother, talking in low tones about how she would need plenty of rest and only toast and black tea for the next few days. Eileen fussed about with her pillows as a beaming Molly came in with a tray, placing fresh flowers on her dresser. No sooner had the maids left, leaving her with a cup of tea and some dry toast, than Pattie burst in, taking off her gloves and hurling herself onto the bed, grasping her friend’s hands and holding them for a moment, her eyes glistening with emotion.
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